she was a big boned woman, a stone-age beauty. her genes would have charmed any caveman, tall, thick, powerful build (made softer by society of course, but still visible). but she was a relic. a species that was supposed to have been choked out millenia ago and has now been, almost, thoroughly replaced with the waif-like figure of desire that now haunts fashion magazines. she sat on the corner with the others who would be spending the night there, occasionally looking up with deep set eyes to yell at the stoplight. yes, she was fierce.

i imagined her running with the hunting party, spear in hand, powerful legs pounding the ground, surrounded by the sounds of other feet and cries of the hunt. yes, she would have really been something else, then. unfortunately, she was born too late for her own glory. she had missed her hayday by many ages, and instead of being a revered figure, a golden standard of her sex, she spends night after night yelling at traffic signals on Division and Cherry.